


Under the Starry Sky; She Cries

by hands0me_rhys



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Half-Wendigo Josh, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Polyamory, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hands0me_rhys/pseuds/hands0me_rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten friends, now eight.</p><p>[Rewritten]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Count the Fingers You Lost

**Author's Note:**

> psh I had no idea where I was going w/ my first fic of this, left untouched for like eight months. now I have a better clue as to whats going on tbh
> 
> wish me luck bc i know this will be a mess xoxo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris can't see him.

**"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live."**

**-Dorothy Thompson**

* * *

_Chris inhaled visibly, jacket torn from the seams, drenched in sweat and blood that wasn't his. It was Josh, maybe, or Ashley. He doesn't remember._

_He does, in fact, know this game. It's dark in the Washington residence. He knows this game._

_"Josh, please." The blonde muttered over the static in his ears, and then the soft flicker of a radio being turned on. It's classical._

_"What's the problem, dude? Thought you were too cool for me. Too cool for us, huh, Christopher?"_

_The blonde man couldn't feel his fingers. They were numb. He was blind, he couldn't, doesn't see in front of him, instead crouched in the center of the hallway, his breath coming in shallow beats._

_"We're best friends. I.." Chris couldn't finish, as he keeled in on himself, thrown a loop as a boot collided with his ribcage._

_Fingers splay on his jacket. The blonde felt disgust build on his face, the hand bony and decaying. The light flickered in the hallway, and three figures tower over him._

_Hannah. Beth. Josh._  

* * *

 

He choked on the air around him, eyes snapping open, dilated and colliding with tired brown tuffs of hair in his line of sight. Somewhere, he might've thought it was Josh. But no,  _no,_ Mike stirred, a soft mutter passing his lips as he slept in the chair, head eased against the wall. 

Chris swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue, sitting back, knuckles white on the armrests. 

Josh was always there. _Always_. The detectives had told him how the boy was MIA, how he was just missing and they'd find him even if it was the last thing they'd do. Chris didn’t believe them.

He could barely recollect the past twelve hourscin the police station. They'd flewn the group to a hospital, and somehow, somehow Chris is left to blurt his grief. Jessica, she was in the care of the hospital. Matt and Emily had gone so she wouldn't be alone. Sam sat across from them, head against Ashley's red locks. 

He rubbed his fingers over his eyes, and stared heavily at the active station. He just wanted to go home. 

Forget about the mountain, about what happened to Hannah and Beth, forget it all and go back to sitting on the roof with Josh till four in the morning, just to find a UFO. Go back to pretending to be college frat boys, whereas they'd drink till they were shit faced and make awful jokes until one or both of them passed out.

He doesn't care about that anymore. He just wanted his friend back.

"Chris?" Mike muttered, and a low noise came from the man whilst the blonde turned his head. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?" Chris questioned, tone daft and reigned in. "Nah. I think this chair is giving me arthritis." 

A bitter laugh passed between them, and Chris ran fingers through damp blonde hair. "How you feeling, bud?" The brunette responded, voice gravelly, hoarse and uncharacteristically remorseful. "Peachy. How about you, partner?"

"Not too great."

"I'm fucking starving." Michael hummed in response, but his hand latches onto Christopher's forearm. "Are you really okay, pal?" The brunette asked, and Chris shrugged. 

"As good as it gets, all considering, Mike. I'm fine." He's not. He never will be. There's something that eased in his chest, undefined and painful all in one breath. Michael stood, pulling Chris up with him, letting go as soon as he made haste to push his palm at Sam's shoulder.

It's mundane. Everything here, everything there, the blonde man couldn't distinguish what was real anymore. If it even was. Static is always in his ears, and he just wants to go anywhere that wasn’t here. To be _somewhere_ else from the bustling police station, waiting for his parents to come and wrap arms around him while he bawled till his eyes were red, until his throat was raw. He's not even sure if they'll be able to leave tomorrow, just by the looks of the officers that questioned them, taking statements with grief.

His fingers wrapped around his own arm for a split second, as if by instinct, before Sam's eyes caught his and she smiled briefly while Mike went off to find the nearest vending machine.

"Any updates?" The blonde woman asked, standing to stretch, with Ashley still seated comfortably in her chair. "Not that I know of." He muttered, and a crooked grin eased on her face as she nudged his shoulder. "Party pooper. I'm going to go see if we can sleep in a holding cell like  _criminals._ " She says it like a secret, and maybe— Chris thought there was some morbid truth to it. 

He didn't respond, just rolled his eyes, and she was gone, off to bother the local deputies for blankets and a cell.

"How are you doing, Chris?" Ashey asked softly, and he sat down beside her. "I'm not sure how to answer that anymore." The man said, and a smile perked on his lips as she brushed her head on his shoulder. They aren't a thing, not anymore. It had been only hinted, that the one thing they could've had was ruined by the night before. And that's okay. Or at least, he thinks he is. Ash was his friend, and that was enough for him.

"I think we can all say the same." She responded, and he sighed. "It's all I can think about."

 

 

 


	2. Lungs Filled With Smoke

Emily came to mind, fixed gaze on seemingly nothing as he thought back to before, the fire in her eyes flickering to him with disdain. He wondered how often she’d bring up the 'you-almost-shot-me-you-prick' business the next time they saw each other.

Mike looked off, moving towards the vending machine with a calculating finesse. "Hey," It's the first thing Sam's said to him in hours and he knows he deserves being ignored up until this point.

"Hey." He replied, gulping audibly as his fingers pushed quarters in the slot, junk food tumbling to the bottom. "I was thinking about Josh."

Her comment made him tense as he turned his gaze towards her. "What about him?" Mike replied, trying not to sound bitter but failing. Sam smiled anyway, fingers wrapped around blankets he hadn't seen before. "When he comes back, what will you do?" She looked from him, to the direction of their other two friends. The woman knew he was angry when his eyebrows furrow.

"Who says he's _alive,_ Sam?" Mike got defensive and she sighed. "I'm just saying.. Chris is going to be a wreck. If he is, or if he isn't. I know that it.. It messed him up a lot, because Josh was his  _best friend,_ Mike." And maybe the blonde woman, too. She'd once thought she was close to the Washington boy, through Beth and Hannah. God, she missed them. 

That friendship was short lived, he knew. Josh was the blonde man’s first priority, and Mike couldn't get in the way of that. But he shouldn't care. He doesn't want to, but he does. He cares a lot.

"You need to take care of him, Mike. He won't remember to when he's bawling his eyes out and dedicating his life to finding Josh, _or_ mourning him." She uncrossed her arms, nudging his shoulder as he scooped up the food from the tray; a few bags of trail mix and a bag of off brand chips. "Come on. We get to sleep in the cell." She said lightly, and he grimaced, the remembrance of the sanitorium edging on his mind.

Mike hated Josh. He shouldn't, because Josh was sick and didn't know what he was doing, but he did. A selfish part of him wanted Chris to hate him, too, and god forbid Joshua gets in the middle of _them_ even after traumatizing Chris, his now only friend, the only person that wasn't mortified by the Washington's existence.

Mike really shouldn't hate him, because he didn't even know what he'd done wrong. And Josh deserved vengeance, didn't he? They indirectly killed his sisters. They caused their deaths, didn't they? And Jess, god, poor Jess. She was in the hospital  _because_ of it. 

There's a bitter taste in his mouth, even as he came back to reality, back to his friends as they invaded a small room to sleep in for the night.

* * *

When Mike woke up, a warm body stay huddled up to him as he went to feel through the stranger's hair. He grunted. It was Chris, who stifled a snicker as he pressed closer to the poor Munroe. "You're a _cuddler_."

Christopher looked smug, joking, and Mike wanted to kiss it off his face. But he can't. "Fuck you." Michael replied, a forced glare edging on his face when Chris grinned wider. He retracted his hand from the blonde hair before Chris had a chance to tease him more.

It had been a while since he's seen Chris smile wide, toothy and cheesing. He didn't mind at all. "Maybe later, Mr. President." Mike had known the remark would come with mockery and rolled his eyes. Chris relaxed back against the floor, a blanket over his figure as Mike rolled away, marking space between them to hide his embarrassment.

Sam was laying on the other side of the cell, a small blanket draped over her as she slept on the bunk, Ashley on the other side of the small space sleeping soundly. He felt around till the soft texture of a blanket was met with the pads of his fingers.

Mike opened his mouth, before clamping his jaw shut. "What?" Chris replied, nudging him. He looked almost.. gone, the blonde hair on his head sticking up at odd angles.

"Did you sleep okay?" Michael settled with that, because mentioning that Chris was distant all evening might scare him away. "Fine. You were a bonus."

Mike doesn't believe him, because the tinge under his eyes were still dark and hideous. "You hungry?" Mike asked and Chris shook his head, as if the thought repulsed him.

"I haven't seen you eat anything but a bag of chips, bud." Mike held the gentle tone of his voice, watching as Chris frowned. "I feel like throwing up." The blonde was less relaxed, but he was splayed beside the brunette.

"And if you do, that's okay. Please." And he does. Maybe to only ease the brunette's worried expression, but it was enough for Mike to relax, to feel more comfortable in the early dawn.  _Funny._ He's not sure that he liked to think that only hours ago, they'd been running for their lives, and Mike had completely abandoned Josh in the mines. Chris doesn't know that. He doesn't want him to. Guilt and anger clash with each other every second he dwells on it.

They're sitting at each other's side, Chris picking at trail mix, chocolate candy between his fingers as his gaze flickered to Mike and then away. 

"Do you think he's okay?" The blonde asks within a soft silence, and he sits the bag down, his back against the bars as Michael stared, unnerved, missing fingers evident. "I don't know, man. I tried to get him out. I did, and I—" The brunette halted, biting on his tongue as he brushed the bandages with his thumb, bloody and sticking to his flesh. It was almost like the fingers were still there, and he could feel them. It burned.

"You did everything you could. I know, but I just.. A part of me thinks that if I can save Josh  _now_ , then maybe he'll forgive me, forgive us." Chris responded, words delicate and truthful. It made Mike feel sick to his stomach. He doesn't want Josh to forgive him. 

None of the others would voluntarily seek out Joshua, but Christopher was a different story. They'd been friends since third grade. Mike had come soon after, but that didn't change anything, only that he wasn't close enough to be a priority to Chris.

The blonde blamed himself, and he hadn't even been a part of that stupid  _fucking_ prank. Mike had. He'd been the cause of it. Hannah had ran off, and he'd ruined everything because of some bullshit they didn't really mean. Hannah, Beth.

They killed them. Hannah had eaten her sister to  _stay alive,_ and Mike had caused it all. He swallowed uncomfortably, and shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, man. Just.. dwelling on it only makes it worse."

Mike couldn't even take his own advice.

 


	3. Stars are The Wishes of Hopeless People

_"Tell us, did you ever see anything.. different, about Joshua?"_

That was what scared Chris most. That he never saw anything wrong with someone he cared about, someone he's been around since he was eight years old. The question lingers in his head, even as his parents envelop him in hugs, and the others are getting ready to leave, to go home, to go back to their normal lives.

Chris wasn't allowed to go back to his own apartment, by suggestion of his mother, with her frail arm tucked under his, around his chest and crying openly. And he didn't resist it, hugging her fiercely, with a dire need to just be  _c_ _ared_ for.

It's weeks, before he sees his friends again. They all go out to a therapy session, ate at the food court in the mall. It's mundane, and no one, not even Jessica, was up for excessive fun. She's different now, Chris notices. Bruises were heavy on her face, around her neck, down her body.

She was quiet, wise, and smiled less, only to be friendly. Not like the cheerleader they knew. She's always wrapped in Emily or Matt, when she's out of breath in a crowd, and they lace fingers through hers when she's scared. 

It made Chris wonder, if this was what Josh wanted. If this was what they deserved. They were a group of stupid kids, now traumatized and scars all over their bodies, Mike even missing a few fingers. It's something that made the blonde think about what really went through his best friend's head that night, if he'd just went along with it because his ‘ _sisters’_ told him to, because he wasn't taking his meds, or taking the wrong ones.

The days are a blur, even. The Washington's visit him, hold his hands, apologize, weep that their children were gone. Maybe Josh had felt like he was the one that should have died, the one fuck up son that no one needed. Chris needed him. He only wished he had the chance to tell him.

Something is heavy inside his chest, the therapist telling him it's okay, that he needed to forgive  _himself_ before he could forgive Josh. But he already has forgiven Josh. He could never forgive himself, not even now.

It's a month before they find Josh in the cavern of the mountains. He gets the call, and it's almost like time starts again.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

It's the first thing that Josh says. A surgical mask hides a majority of his face, and Chris couldn't see anything, only that his friend is terrified, only that he's sitting on the edge of his bed, and he isn't  _dead._

"Don't be." Chris parts his lips, and it comes out soft, perplexed. Brown eyes dart up to him, pleading and unfamiliar. "Chris, you don't have to pretend. Everyone hates me, they  _hate_ me." The blonde doesn't remember much, only that he sat down beside him on the corner of the bed. Josh is too quick to wrap arms over him, squeezing heavily as Chris recuperated. 

"It's not your fault," The blonde whispered, and he could feel his shoulders shaking, brown hair mussing against his neck. "Something's wrong with me." The Washington responded, voice frail and weak, unable to let his friend go, fingers heavy and gripping the thin material of his shirt.

" _No._ Nothing is going to keep me from being there for you, Josh. I don't care if you're— I just want to help. I just want to be there. Please." Chris knows now, that Josh wasn't going to prison, not for this, for a plea of severe mental illness. And somewhere, along the way, Chris would do his best. He would help his best friend get better, or at least  _okay_ , because they'll never be the same again.

Guilt welled in his chest, and Josh inhaled, sniffling and unaware. He pulled away, and fingers edge on the mask. "There's.."

Chris doesn't even know how to react, his palm touching scarred skin, among a severe— something. His teeth are sharp, and his eyes are cast downward. "We'll get through this. Remember?" Chris asked within a mutter, thumb resting on his cheek, and Josh leans into the touch.

He doesn't know how to function without Josh. It's unhealthy and terrifying. He just wants to help, and Josh is the only person he has the chance of saving. He needed him.

Even if their friends needed time, needed their space, he would wait for them. He wouldn't push, wouldn't force them into Joshua's life. But Chris would stay.

* * *

Mike hands him the bottle as he shuffled through to the kitchen, and Chris lays back on the couch, a grunt seeping through his lips as some pop song lept through the radio. He took a long swig, burning his throat, leg dangling over the couch as the brunette snickered. "The hell you doing? Scoot your ass."

The blonde waved a dismissive hand, and Mike kicked at his leg. "Michael, dearest, you show how much you love me  _every_ day." Chris sat up acutely, his legs over the armrest and Mike plopped down with a bag of chips, easy in his hands.

" _Mhm_ , freeloader."

"Mike, seriously. I came for a reason."

"To drink all of my beer and eat all of my food?"

"Well, yes, but also a _serious_ thing."

Mike knew what it was. Chris had asked him countless times, and a bitter twist settles in the pit of his stomach. "Chris," He started, almost in warning, and the blonde's head perked up, upside down, his glasses edging on his forehead. "He needs us.  _All_ of us."

"We almost died. I almost shot Em. I lost my fingers. That guy on the mountain is  _dead_ and there are fucking monsters up there that the police still refuse to believe us about. I'm not going to see him." It's hazardous, and Chris shifted to sit up, eyebrows furrowed. "He was off his meds. None of that was even  _his_ fault, Mike. He thought he was just playing a fucking joke to get us back after his sisters  _died._ " He snapped back, and Mike sat the bowl down. 

"Fuck _that_. Fuck him. I'm not going."

It's been months. Sam and Ashley had visited Josh, had given condolences, had gone countless times thereafter. Emily refused at first, but had gone as soon as Jessica and Matt had made their minds. Michael, being the stubborn ass he was, wouldn't reason. Chris could feel a pitiful scowl edge on his face. "You haven't even given him a chance. He's so fucking sorry. He's trying so hard, and you're being _so_ —"

"I don't give a shit! I don't want to see his _face_ for the rest of my goddamn life." It's a hiss that made Chris push the bottle back in Mike's hand, a spiteful look on his face as the blonde pulled on his jacket. "Fine, asshole. Be like that. I’m not going to bed." Mike watched his face, blue eyes glaring and furious, before he turns his back on the man and the door slams with a hard thud.

He swallows, and Mike slid his right palm over his eyes. 

 


	4. Drowning in Fairy Dust

"It's okay."

Josh's voice floods his ears, and Chris is sitting there, staring at him, eyes bleak and overwhelmed. The younger couldn't let it fall to him, to understand the internal struggle of Mike, or to stress himself out over things he shouldn't be. Chris was here to do better by him. This was how it always was with them; how it always should be. But Josh knows what's wrong, and Chris knew he was too smart for his own good. That bubbly facade of the Washington was there, but was less and less, replaced by a timid boy Chris remembered in childhood.

"It's not." The blonde responds, and he shifts, the television flickering in the opposite side of the room. Josh is a live-in. His parents won't let him leave the house. There's something on Josh's wrist, and Chris could make out  _J. WASHINGTON._ A hospital wristband, most likely from the last visit to the ER after his reemergence to the world, to the reality of what had happened, of who he'd hurt. Chris swallowed heavily. The other boy scratched at his wrist, his face hidden behind the surgical mask, straps hidden behind his ears. Chris felt sick.

"I don't blame him for not wanting to be around me. I don't want to  _force_ anyone around me. Having you here is enough."

They sit in silence, if only for a few seconds, and the blonde reached out. Josh responded with his palm running over the younger's hand and squeezing. "It's the principle, loser. Mike is being an ass." The blonde attempted to be affectionate in the name-calling, but the last few words were bitter. Not a single person could blame Mike, all except Chris, who was so fiercely loyal to turning wrong-into-rights, that he somehow found a way to hold it against their friend.

"He  _is?_ I thought he already was." The brown-haired Washington's eyes are gleaming, and under the mask, Chris is sure he's making that stupid little grin known; the kind that made his chest hurt and his head light.

"More than usual, then." Chris snorted in response, and they're happy, or at least, Josh is.

The television is making more noise, a show about some cartoon characters in the middle of an off-handed mishap. The blonde caught sight of his friend's face, the mask, and his stomach twisted. He felt sick. He  _was_ sick. He did this to his best friend. Chris caused this. This was his fault. 

_Of course it is, Christopher. Why wouldn't it be?_

The voices; they're everywhere.

* * *

 

Sam flicked his arm, and he's slouching, moving away, as they all sit in the cafe, eating, talking. She's trying to take a chip from his plate, and he's purposely trying to spite her.  Times like this were when he felt like a real person again. This was reality. He was real, was here, and that was enough.

_But you know it's not, and that's what you're scared of._

"Talk to Mike lately?" Jessica overcame the silence. Sam is pestering Chris, and Ashley snorts, before her eyes are on Jessica, turning soft and warm in one split second. "He's been distant." She said, and Sam pursed her lips, ready to put her two cents in the mix. "He's just trying to adjust, Jess. He'll come around." The blonde woman said it soon after her girlfriend, and Jessica's face was meek, Emily moving to grab her wrist with little thought. Matt was on the other side, his arm over the back of her chair, ending at Emily's shoulder. Chris could tell what had been going on between the three, but he's too hesitant to address it quite yet.

"He hasn't said anything in two weeks. It's the longest any of us haven't seen him. I'm worried." The blonde woman said, her fingers limp, but welcoming of Emily and Matt. The dark-haired female, keeping mouth shut and still, eyes angry and overall, just pissed off. They knew exactly how she felt about Mike, about what he'd so easily attempted to do on the mountain. And she'd been known to hold grudges, but here she was, beside two people she felt to be the closest people in her life. The soft exchange of kisses, of warm brushes of palms against skin. It's different.

Sam pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows furrowed, her lips turned into a bitter thin line. Chris knew it was his fault. 

"I'm sorry, Jess. I was being a prick to him. I'm on his shit-list." The blonde man responded, and his friend sighed. "I don't blame you, or anyone else. He just takes confrontation differently." Jessica said, and Chris wouldn't have known it was her saying it if she wasn't in front of him right now. Her demeanor had changed, from a prep to a  _person_ _._

They're eating, talking.

Chris knew it was his fault.

He did this.

_Repeat._

* * *

Chris is at home, wide awake in bed, when his phone buzzes.

_[MIKE-12:45 AM] I'm sorry for being a dick._

_[MIKE-12:46 AM] I just don't trust him, Chris._

_CHRIS is typing.._

The words are for him, but not for Josh. He's bitter, and he swallows it.

_[CHRIS-12:54 AM] I know._

_[MIKE-1:02 AM] Is that it? "I know."_

_[CHRIS- 1:09 AM] You're an asshole._

_[CHRIS- 1:10 AM] But I am, too. Want to get wasted?_

They'll get drunk. He'll loosen up, and forgive Mike. It's how it always was; how it should be. He thinks the words sound.. familiar, like he's said them before. He doesn't remember, though. Something dings at his window, and he holds his breath, maybe out of relief, maybe out of excitement.

 

_[MIKE- 1:12 AM] Fuck yeah. Look out your window._


	5. Eyes that See Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT AHEAD! lol this is just an excuse to write porn im sorry mom

Chris isn't sure what to think about Mike anymore; he surprises him more often than not. He crawls through his window at one in the morning, and they're laying shoulder-to-shoulder on his cramped mattress. He hasn't been in this bedroom in  _years,_ but for the past few months he's been restrained to sleeping here and checking on his apartment during the daylight hours. His mother worried for him, in fear of losing her baby like Melinda and Bob. He could do nothing to sate her fears.

He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, the liquor heavy on his tongue as Mike stirred beside him. "Sorry," He mutters again, and Chris snorts in response. "To me, maybe." The blonde was being an asshole, but he couldn't find the mercy to be gentle. "Bud, I—" He parted his lips, and Chris nudged him. "I don't blame you— or at least, not anymore. He's my best friend, but I.. get why you can't forgive him, okay?" Michael's gaze flickered back to the other man, and his lips upturned.

"You had me in an existential crisis, man." The brunette laid back on his back, and the blonde pursed his lips. "You went MIA. We were worried about you, y'know."

"I was thinking." Mike being gone for  _so_ long without contacting them, without a word, it made Chris anxious to think about him being gone— ending up like Josh. "About what?" The blonde muttered in response, propped up while his thumb slid over the lid of the bottle. The alcohol was heavy on his breath. Michael, however hesitant he was, responded.

"You." Chris turned his head, looking down at him, and could feel something wash over him in waves. He sneered, and pushed his fingers through Michael's hair. It wasn't friendly. It wasn't what Chris should have been doing, but here he was. He didn't even  _want_ Mike like that; right?

He knew it was the intoxication getting to his head; but he didn't stop himself and neither did Michael. It's fuzzy, when the brunette stares up at him and they're not breaking away. "Is that all?" He responded, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. "I-I don't.." Mike wasn't  _gay,_ he'd say, and ruin the moment like he always did with— with anyone. Mike just needed some coaxing. Chris could  _do_ that.  

This is wrong; He knew it was. He didn't care about Mike, not in that way— not like Josh. His best friend meant everything to him; Chris just needed comfort right now. The fact being that Josh didn't feel the same way as Chris did, or at least as far as he knew. And even then, he couldn't ruin everything he had with Josh. The trust they'd just started to get back. Mike was a safe way out. They'd be friends again, no matter what.

It's moments before the brunette forced his lips over the other man's. Chris is welcoming, biting his lips, licking at the inside of his mouth. "I shouldn't.." Michael whispered, his voice guttural. Chris hums pliantly against his jaw, his teeth grazing against unmarked skin. "Don't. Not right now, okay? Relax."

The brunette made a noise in the back of his throat, something Chris found endearingly sweet, pushing the half-empty bottle on his bedside table and pushing the other man back on the bed, placing himself comfortably on top of the brunette, hands intertwining and fingers splayed over knuckles. He shouldn't do this, shouldn't take advantage of Michael just to make himself feel better— less guilty. But then again, Mike didn't reject him; wasn't repulsed by it.

He doesn't know how it even started— but by the time he’s doubting himself it's already been too long. They're half naked and Michael is writhing beneath him, grunts escaping him as they rock their hips closely together, fabric from their briefs creating friction.

"Fuck, fuck..  _Fuck."_

Mike's free hand wrapped around his hip, jerking up, bare chest heaving and his mouth falling open when he stills. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Chris clamps a hand over his mouth, kissing his face apologetically, his parents still asleep across the hall. The brunette stifles a plea, his boxers stained and his breath hot on Christopher's palm. Chris doesn't waste time kissing at his earlobe, muttering sweet things while the brunette shoved his hand past the blonde’s waistband and stroked him to completion. 

This was wrong.

_Repeat._


End file.
